We got to my place at six a.m. on Sunday, Gershwin heading back to Miami. The department was handling all the prisoners accumulated in the trio of busts: Redi-flow, the Quonset hut and the Paraíso. Roy told us to take the day and sleep and come in at ten on Monday for a recap and a day of relentless paperwork.
We both arrived a few minutes early, Bobby Erickson pointing to the main conference room. “They’re all in there. I dunno what’s going on, but everyone’s acting weird.”
He padded away in the fluffy slips and Gershwin and I went to the room. The whole crew was in attendance at the table, Roy leaning against the wall. It reminded me of my first dismal day, Roy grinning, everyone else staring.
Roy was fanning himself with a padded mailing package. We sat and he pushed from the wall with his ass, holding the package high. “This was delivered to the SunState Bank after hours on Saturday, didn’t show up until this morning. And inside …”
He reached inside, pulled out an envelope. IMPORTANT! it blared in red marker. PLEASE RUSH TO FLORIDA POLICE INVESTIGATORS.
“The bank folks didn’t know what to do, so it came to us at eight this morning. Inside, we found this …” Roy did a drum roll with his tongue and produced a small silver rectangle. “Look what I have,” he said, the Jack O’Lantern face ablaze with delight.
“Seems to be a computer,” I said.
“Not just any computer, Carson. A computer belonging to Amili Zelaya, the dead woman in the Paraíso and the operation’s accountant, as it seems. We’ve been reading snatches of information. It seems the late Ms Zelaya was a detail fanatic.”
“Is Kazankis named?” I said, holding my breath.
Degan spoke. “Named every time he receives a payment. He’s cooked.”
I stared at Degan, unsure how to respond, joy at knowing Kazankis was nailed, or amazement at hearing Degan speak more than four words at a sitting. And not a single grunt between them.
Tatum’s turn. “It also appears, Detective Ryder, that Kazankis used a familiar business model for slavery: rental.”
“What?”
“The trafficked humans, women mainly, weren’t sold, but rented or leased like construction equipment, so much for a week or a month.”
Roy spun the computer my way. “Here’s a typical rental contract, bud. Eight women, all named, rented to the Taste of Heaven Massage Parlor for fifteen hundred dollars per woman per month. There are dozens of contracts with massage parlors, strip joints, whorehouses and pimps. Not to mention a few private homes and back-alley sweatshops.”
“Contracts placing slaves as far away as Atlanta.” Tatum again. “Naming the rentees and the renters.”
I was having trouble keeping it all straight. “Wait … you’re saying we know where every slave is at this moment?”
Roy mimed swinging a lasso. “I already started round-up time. We’ll get these people back. I put Degan in charge of coordinating everything. Ceel’s taking some of Tatum’s casework next week so he can jump in as well. He’s gonna partner with Lonnie.”
Roy’s grin had spread beyond his face, like it was a separate entity. He pointed both hands at me in a magician’s ta-da! moment. “Look at my boy, people. Didn’t I tell you he was amazing?”
Everyone on the crew turned to Gershwin and me. They applauded.
“Truth time, McDermott,” Tatum said. “’Fess up, you white devil.”
“We’ve been rooting for you, buddy,” Roy said. “Every teensy step of the way. We love you to pieces, cupcake.”
I stared, forcing my mouth to shape words. “What about the money, the salary increases?”
“Everybody got bumps last year.”
“Wait … I didn’t waylay anyone’s raises?”
Roy did sheepish. “What happened was, well, a sort of initiation …”
“Initiation, shit,” Tatum said. “It’s a fucking hazing, Ryder. They made me think I’d fallen into Klan central. Plus that bullshit about keeping everyone from a raise.”
Valdez grinned and popped the gum. “I thought it was ’cuz I was female.”
“Sorta,” Tatum said.
“Fuck you, Tatum. And, of course, that I’d pulled cash from wallets.”
“You want to punch McDermott, Ryder?” Canseco said. “We’ll all be glad to hold him.”
I don’t think I could have lifted an arm. It had all been a stunt, a Roy McDermott artificial drama. But seeing the admiration in the eyes of my colleagues and knowing I’d run the same ridiculous gantlet these folks had run … I actually felt good.
“We even kept an eye on you, Ryder,” Degan said. “Just to make sure you stayed safe in the big city. A now-and-then tail.”
“I was sure I saw Canseco. You and Valdez, too, I think.” I hadn’t been losing my mind.
“I even did you a favor,” Tatum said. “Sent you a gift. Actually I sent it to Delmara.”
I thought a few seconds. “Blaine Mullard?”
“He’s my snitch. He heard Delmara was looking for a knife man, but came to me after he got busted. I sent him to Vince, instead.”
I shook my head. Not synchronicity but an invisible helping hand. Though if you looked at it just right …
Degan reached to the floor and produced a bag, sliding it down the table into Gershwin’s lap. “Open it up, you fucking hotdog.”
Gershwin pulled out a shiny new Glock. “It ain’t a real gun, a wheel gun,” Degan said. “But it’s prettier than that beater piece you’re carrying.”
“Here you go, kid,” Roy said, flipping Gershwin a badge wallet. Zigs studied the ID with a grin.
“Not ‘Provisional’?”
“I’ve had my eye on you, Zigzag. Why I suggested to Señor Grocery-store magnate that he send you my way. A lot quicker than going through channels.”
More laughter. Degan went to the coffee cart to find a cup to torment.
“Are you ever planning on growing up, Roy?” I asked.
“When it works for me. So far it hasn’t.” He walked to the front of the room, pivoted on his heels like a dancer, spun back to face us, clapping the hands. “So how about we go pull some folks out of hellholes? There are warrants to be obtained, local departments to be contacted. Time for you kiddies to earn your exorbitant incomes.”
We filed out in unison, Roy McDermott’s crime crew, the crème de la crime.
Three days passed. Kazankis was dragged off to jail screaming about being a martyr for Christ and I figured some prison psychiatrist was going to have a field day. The crew, my crew, Ziggy’s crew, told us to take a couple days off while they handled the legwork.
There was much good to study, and a tiny bit of bad to deal with. On the good side: My first-ever case in Florida was closing on a soprano arpeggio. Leala Rosales was being assisted by Victoree Johnson. I had high hopes, her resiliency was amazing, her fortitude uncanny. A survivor.
And the bad? I was getting booted from the coolest digs I’d ever known: a nifty house with my own private jungle. It seemed the parcel was zoned for multi-occupancy dwelling and had been bought over the weekend by C & A Enterprises to remake as a condo complex. I’d not had time to search out another place yet, so today’s challenge was seeing if the new owners would give me a few days to find a cheap apartment where I could hole up and look for a house.
I was taking one of my final looks at the quiet little cove when the knock came to the door, a death knell. Roy entered, followed by one of the department’s legal types, T. Raymond Bellington, a compact and overdressed guy with too much cologne and seeming a bit too happy at selling my transient digs from beneath me.
I tapped Bellington’s fingers in the approximation of a handshake. “So you got a new place I hope, Detective?” he said. “Ready to vacate today?”
“Working on it.”
Roy wanted coffee, which I had, Bellington asking did I have a non-caffeinated herbal tea? When I said I did not, but go outside and pick leaves from something and I’d boil them for him, he gave me a look and said water would be fine. I fetched beverages and we went out to the deck. I wanted to spend as much time as possible in my vanishing kingdom.
“Seems kinda sad to turn this into condos,” Roy said.
Bellington disagreed. “Better land usage,” he noted. “Higher occupant density.”
We heard tires moving down the lane. I seemed unable to rise and Roy went inside to answer the door, stepping to the deck a minute later and leading a tall and square-jawed man in his early forties and his assistant, a squat and dark-eyed woman reminiscent of Gertrude Stein. His name was Alan Winquist, hers Francine Bashore. They wore conservative business attire, Winquist opting for a gray palette, Miz Bashore going for a subdued purple, though offset with a sunny orange scarf.
“You work for C & A Enterprises?” I asked, pulling out a chair for Bashore and trying to appear upbeat.
“On a retainer basis,” Bashore said, nodding and sitting. “C & A has a finger in several pots, as they say. Development is a new endeavor.”
“You’re from a Memphis law firm?” Roy asked. He’d spent a few early years in Memphis where, I assumed, they were still recovering.
“Barlett, Duncan, and Ives.”
“Haven’t they all been dead since the Civil War?” Roy said.
“I believe Mr Duncan lived until the late fifties,” Bashore said. “The rumor that he studied under Oliver Cromwell is incorrect, but he did clerk for Oliver Wendell Holmes.”
The firm of BD&I was old line white-shoe. Not the type to grant exceptions. Dropping to my knees and begging was out.
“Our employer was considering sitting in,” Bashore said, glancing at her watch. “But we’re to go ahead if he couldn’t make it.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her briefcase. “Any questions before we make it official?”
“Uh, Carson,” Roy said. “Didn’t you have a small request?”
I cleared my throat. “I’ve been, uh, intending to find another place, but it seems I’ve not quite located a suitable, uh …”
A frown from Bashore. “If you’re asking if you can remain here, we’re only here to transfer the property. I’m afraid you’ll have to—”
A knock at the door. Roy jumped up to answer it, good, since my legs felt dead.
There was a motel down the road I could move to this evening. Or rent storage space and bunk with Gershwin for a few days. Or I could ask Dubois to store my stuff in his garage and …
“Our new arrival,” Roy said, stepping back out to the deck. “To those who don’t know him I’ll introduce Doctor August Charpentier. Have a seat with the group, Doctor.”
My heart stopped. It was my brother, Jeremy, in his false identity. He sat and crossed his long legs, a picture of elegance in his sky-blue seersucker suit, open white shirt and blue-banded straw Panama. I concentrated on not keeling over as the head of FCLE’s investigative division handed coffee to my fugitive brother.
“Sorry to be tardy,” Jeremy said in a Frenchified accent. “I’ve been on the phone with my long-winded accountants. How are the proceedings going?”
“We’re making the transfer, sir,” Winquist said. “A wonderful site for multiple units, I’d say.”
Jeremy nodded. “Excellent, though my accountants just advised me to delay actual site development until several new tax issues are resolved. I’ll simply hold the property for a bit.”
“Accountants know best,” Bashore said.
“It does, however, leave me with a bit of a problem.”
“Which is, Doctor Charpentier?”
Jeremy cleared his throat as if preparing to ask a great favor, and turned to me. “I guess my question is, Mr Ryder, if you haven’t already made other plans … could you possibly remain here as a tenant? Keep the place safe and all?”
I tried to speak, couldn’t. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I, uh, guess that might work, Doctor,” I managed. “For a bit, at least.”
Jeremy clapped his hands. “Splendid. My cab awaits so I’ll leave you folks to work out the details. Rent of say, four hundred dollars a month?”
Winquist raised an eyebrow. “That seems exceedingly low, sir.”
“Then I’ll consider it an investment in law enforcement, an occupation that has always fascinated me.”
“Are you heading back to Kentucky, Doctor?” Bashore asked as Jeremy turned for the deck door.
“No, I’m staying a few days to check out local properties.”
I stood and walked him through the house as the lawyers scratched on papers. Roy followed to refill his coffee cup, too close for Jeremy and I to drop our façades.
“Local properties, sir?” I said, barely able to squeak out words.
Jeremy nodded as we reached the threshold, his hand on the knob. “I’m becoming attracted to sunnier climes, Mr Ryder. New worlds to conquer and all that.”
“Uh, where are you looking, sir?”
“I’m considering Key West. It has such a romantic history. I hear a lot of pasts have been buried out there.”
My mouth dropped open, and my brother’s grin went as wide as the horizon. He whispered, “See you soon, neighbor.”
And walked into the sunlight.